


First of a Million Kisses

by dickviolin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5282591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickviolin/pseuds/dickviolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tonight, at least, Louis’ filled with the milk of human kindness. Or alcohol. It’s basically the same thing."</p>
<p>When Louis, alone in a club two weeks before graduation, is harassed by a 6'5" rugby player, Nick comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First of a Million Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [judgementdays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/judgementdays/gifts).



It’s 9 on a Saturday evening, Louis is just the right kind of drunk. Everything Zayn’s saying is funny, the lights outside are pleasantly blurry and the music in Liam’s car sounds great. This is sublime, Louis thinks. He sticks his neck out of the window. It’s funny- it hasn’t really sunk in that this is probably going to be the last night out he’ll have as a student, not counting his grad ball. Fallowfield passes by in all its scratty glory. The flora and fauna of the average Manchester night out stalk up and down the street as they whizz by. He’ll miss it all, he reckons. He’ll miss Eid on Wimmy Road, miss the Curry Mile, he’ll even miss their shitty student flat. But, he thinks, as he sits back in his seat and winds his window up, still some time to go yet. He’s a student for another two whole weeks.  
“Y’rite?” Zayn says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away.   
“Great, ta,” Louis says, and means it. Zayn nods and goes back to distracting Liam from his driving. Harry shifts in his seat next to Louis. He already looks like he might fall asleep. He’s a great lad, Harry, but hopeless on a night out.   
Whatever. Tonight, at least, Louis’ filled with the milk of human kindness. Or alcohol. It’s basically the same thing.

It’s gone midnight, and Louis is alone. Harry has been sent home on a bus- hopefully one going somewhere close to Withington- before he fell asleep at the bar; he had been drooping since 10. Liam and Zayn have been outside, snogging, since half 10, which is probably a record. It took them until Liam was too pissed to stand in first year- it wasn’t until second year he could kiss Zayn sober. Anyway, Louis’ alone, and he’s none too happy. He doesn’t mind going to gay bars for the others’ sakes, but he at least expects to have someone to drink with. It’s just a shame Niall dropped out; he was always a laugh at things like this, flirting with girls and boys alike.   
“Hey, sweetcheeks,” a skinny guy with Johnny Bravo hair and teeth white enough to guide mountaineers comes swanning up to him. Louis smiles inanely and takes another sip of his drink.  
“Can I top that up for you, darling?” the guy goes on. His voice is slow and lecherous. It makes Louis’ skin crawl.   
“I’m fine, thanks,” he says. It’s the fifth time tonight something like this has happened. It’s not as if Louis’ averse to it. When he’d first arrived at Manchester, he’d made the fatal mistake of getting off with his flatmate. Sure, he and Liam had never progressed further than a drunken snog during Freshers’ Week, but it had been a revelation to the both of them. It was the first time Louis had ever admitted he liked boys. Liam put a label on his sexuality in second year, but he’s Liam, he likes giving things names and categories. Louis’ just happy to fancy who he fancies and kiss who he kisses. Still, he is uncomfortably aware of the fact that Liam is the only boy that he’s ever been with- and he wasn’t even with Liam. He tells himself that it just hasn’t happened for him yet. Hasn’t met a guy who’s his type- not that he knows who his type is. Or what he’d do if he met his type. He knows one thing for certain, though: whatever his type is, this guy is not it.

Nor is the brick shithouse who homes in on Louis after the DJ starts playing the slow jams. He’s enormous, easily 6’5”. His tank top looks like a rag over his frame, and his shorts are leaving very little to Louis’ imagination. He’s even got a baseball cap on backwards. Christ alive, Channing Tatum’s ugly brother is heading straight Louis’ way.   
Louis offers his glass to the bartender, breaking eye contact with the man. “Same again, ta,” he says. His heart sinks as ‘Climax’ by Usher comes on. He finds himself swept up in the crowd all converging on the dancefloor. He looks back piteously at the drink being meticulously poured, before slamming headfirst into what feels like a solid wall.   
“Heyyy,” a voice coos. Louis looks up, and up a bit more. In amongst the seething mass of men all dancing furiously to a cartoonishly sexy song, Louis has the misfortune to bump into the very man he was trying to avoid.  
“Hey,” Louis says, trying to find a gap in the crowd. If he can just get away from this guy, he can count on the fact that he’s one of the shortest men there and get lost among them.  
The man follows his line of sight and puts a meaty paw on Louis’ shoulder.   
“Not so fast, eh? I just wanna dance. Just one song, c’mon.”  
“Listen, pal, I’m really not interested.” Louis weighs up his options. He could make a dash for it, possibly, but the man seems fast, and would probably just block him again.  
“I just want to dance, yeah?” The guy grabs him by the arse and pulls him in close.   
“Get off me!” Louis exclaims, but his face is pressed hard against the man’s chest.  
“Oi!” The voice, new and coming from behind him, is loud, piercing and Mancunian. “Get your fucking hands off my boyfriend!”  
Before he knows entirely what’s going on, Louis is being grabbed by the hand and extricated from the grip of the man. He looks up to see someone, tall, with a wide mouth and expressive face.  
“C’mon, babe,” this new man says, and pulls Louis across the dancefloor and outside onto the street.

The fresh air is a welcome contrast from the stuffy club. The man drops Louis’ hand, slightly awkwardly, and takes out a packet of cigarettes. It’s only after he’s lit up and taken a long drag that he speaks.  
“Sorry about him, he’s the fucking worst,” he says. Louis simply watches, agape. “When I worked there, I tried to have him banned. I couldn’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure he’s spiked boys’ drinks before. You OK?”  
Louis nods. “I’m Nick, by the way,” the man says, extending a hand.   
“Louis,” he replies. “And thanks.”  
“No problem. You’re not the first, probably won’t be the last. Want one?” Nick holds out a cigarette, and Louis gratefully takes it. They smoke in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Louis looks at the canal as his heartbeat returns to normal.   
“Student?” Nick says at length.  
“Only just,” Louis says, “I get my results in a fortnight.”  
“Nice.”  
“What about you?”  
“I’m living in Prestwich at the minute, trying to get enough together to move to London.”  
Louis nods appreciatively. “What do you plan on doing, then?”  
“Radio, ideally. I do early breakfast on Key 103, which is a bastard for my flatmates, but it pays the rent.”  
“So, I take it you’re going to London for the BBC,” Louis says.  
“I want to present the Radio 1 Breakfast Show,” Nick says, dead serious all of a sudden.  
“Wow,” is all Louis can muster. “That’s ambition.”  
“What about you?” Nick says, “What’s the plan after you finish uni?”  
“Primary school teacher,” Louis says. That was always his trump card when flirting. Everyone loves caring and sharing types. Nick looks suitably impressed.  
“Well, good luck with that, Louis.” The moment between that and them saying goodbye overstays its welcome. Louis looks first at the canal, then at the moon, and finally at Nick. Under the weak orange light of the streetlamp he’s beautiful. Would probably be beautiful under any light, Louis thinks, would be beautiful stretched out and lazy on a Sunday morning, and his brain warns him that that’s a leap too far, but the thought strikes him nonetheless: a radio quietly playing some mindless pop while Nick turns, mid-snooze, the duvet pushed down to his waist, golden light through the curtains illuminating a happy trail. It makes Louis shiver.   
“I’m not-” Louis says, because he’s not, probably, but Nick just shushes him, leans in, closed the gap between them, and it’s- different. Different to Liam, for a start. He hadn’t anticipated the smoke and booze on Nick’s breath, or the stubble on his chin, or the fact that they’re standing under a drip, and he definitely hadn’t considered that they do nothing to make Louis want to stop kissing Nick. Hadn’t considered that he might want to stay there, kissing Nick for the rest of his life. It scares him a bit, but he’s still drunk, still feels like a ghost; this all feels like it’s happening to someone else, and Louis is very happy for him.  
Nick pulls back slightly. “Sorry,” he whispers.  
“Nothing to apologise for,” Louis says. They kiss until Louis’ lips are numb. 

Having hailed and bundled Louis into a taxi, Nick barely pauses to give his address to the driver before kissing him again. Louis settles for putting his thoughts about what this might mean on hold, shelving the image of Nick on a Sunday morning for the time being. The way Nick’s hands feel when running up and down his body before settling in the small of his back replace them, anyway, and it feels like no time at all before they’re pulling up outside a block of flats and Nick is pulling away to pay the driver. 

Nick’s flat is small, but comfortable, and clearly lived-in. Dance music magazines and old copies of tabloid papers litter the coffee table, mugs are stacked up by the sofa and the shelves are overflowing with CDs and records.   
“Sorry it’s such a tip,” he says. Louis finds himself standing awkwardly in the door of the sitting room while Nick makes an attempt to tidy things away, collecting up some of the magazines and lighting a hyacinth-scented candle. Louis hasn’t even seen a scented candle since he last went back to see his mum. He doesn’t dare come in, doesn’t want to disturb the little corner of the world that is 100% Nick. It feels almost sacrilegious.  
“I wasn’t expecting company, that’s all,” Nick says at last.   
“I’m sorry,” Louis says, “I can go…” With mounting fear, he realises that this is the last chance he has to back out. After this point it’s all or nothing.   
“It’s fine,” Nick says, “God, sorry, that was so rude. It’s fine, honestly. I’m just sorry you have to see what a pig I am. Honestly, drives the others up the wall, especially Henry. But they’re out,” he adds hastily, “They’re all in Leeds for a wedding. So it’s just us.”  
There’s a pause where Louis wonders what to say to that. He’s never been on this end of a hook-up.   
“Do you want a drink?” Nick says, finally, and Louis gratefully follows him into the kitchen.

“How do you feel about amaretto sours?” Nick says. Louis sits up on the counter on the other side of the room.  
“I’m not averse to them,” Louis says. He certainly can’t do whatever they’re about to do without some more booze; he’s sobered up somewhat since he was in the club. As Nick prepares the drink, his movements taking on the fluidity of a practised bartender, Louis stares alternately at him (the hair on the nape of his neck, the curve of his back, his arse-) and the fridge. It’s covered in pictures and ticket stubs, held up by an economic arrangement of cheesy magnets. There’s Nick graduating, arms around people Louis presumes are his parents. Nick holding a baby, grinning at the camera. Nick in front of a Mediterranean vista, all sweeping cliffs and bright blue waters, sunnies on top of his head, arms stretched wide. A life, then, a life lived better than Louis had ever considered. He thought of all the people next to Nick in the pictures. If they knew. How he told them.  
“Amaretto sour, for the quietest boy I’ve ever brought home,” Nick says. Louis comes crashing back to earth.   
“Thanks,” he says, “And sorry, my head’s all over the place.”  
“Oh,” says Nick, “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”  
Louis takes an enormous sip of his drink while he thinks how to respond to that. Nick is still looking at him, still expecting an answer.  
“I’m still down,” Louis says at length. Nick grins and kisses Louis, pulling him off the counter. The way his hands wrap right around Louis’ waist is strangely comforting. Nick is so much bigger than him. He has the wonderful sensation of being swallowed.   
“Ready, then?” Nick whispers in his ear.   
Louis nods. 

Things move fast once they get up to Nick’s room. Nick pins him against the door, kissing from his mouth down to his collarbones.  
“Gorgeous,” Nick sighs, kissing a trail along the left one. Emboldened by the drink, Louis’ hand finds its way into Nick’s back pocket to squeeze his arse.   
“Not so shy now, eh?” Nick giggles, and starts back on Louis neck, leaving a lovebite that renders Louis’ cock hard in his jeans. Evidently Nick feels it as Louis grinds against his thigh and snakes a cold hand down into Louis’ pants. Nick grips Louis’ cock and begins to work it slowly in his pants, running his thumb over the head to use the bead of precum forming there as lube. A whine forms in Louis’ throat; he kisses Nick again to stop it escaping. White-hot pleasure builds in Louis’ stomach. He’s dripping precum now.   
“Fuck, Nick,” he bats Nick’s hand away, “I’m not gonna last.”   
“Don’t have to hold out much longer, baby,” Nick says, and when he pushes Louis onto his bed, Louis discovers a thing he didn’t know he had a thing for.   
Nick straddles Louis’ waist and kisses him, long and slow and deep, before pulling his shirt over his head. Then he sets to work kissing all down Louis’ chest, flicking his tongue over both his nipples in turn.   
“Fuck,” Louis finds himself whispering; another new thing. A quiet settles over the room as Nick pulls his jeans off and works back up Louis’ thighs. He feels the scrape of Nick’s stubble as he tugs on his pants, pulling them down and freeing his cock. Finally- finally- Nick takes Louis in his mouth. He works the length with long, languorous licks before kissing the tip and giving Louis a shit-eating grin. Louis leans his head back: the sight of Nick like this is too much to bear.   
When, short minutes later, Nick lets go and leans over to the bedside table, Louis actually whines, like a dog on a tight lead. Nick shushes him with a gentle finger to his lips. Louis’ whole body feels taught in anticipation. He watches in silence as Nick retrieves a condom and a bottle of lube and swiftly applies both. It occurs to Louis that he’s probably done this countless times before. He doesn’t know if the thought comforts or scares him.   
“You ready, babe?” Nick says. Louis nods despite himself. If he’s not ready now, he’ll never be ready.  
He’s only ever seen one gay porn video, watched out of curiosity, so he assumes the position on all fours that he saw then. He hears Nick shuffling behind him, before the sensation of a finger against his hole.  
“Relax,” Nick says, his voice slightly louder, more in control. The tone of it makes Louis quiver, which is something for another day, perhaps. One thing at a time. Right now he’s trying to adjust to this utterly bizarre feeling. It’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant, though slightly uncomfortable.  
“It gets better in a minute,” Nick says, as if reading Louis’ mind. In time, he adds a second, then a third finger- neither of which add nor detract from the pleasure, only heightening the sensation. Just as Louis is getting used to the gentle back-and-forth of Nick’s fingers, he’s pulling them out. He hears the quiet click of the lube bottle again, and shifts position slightly. Nick’s cock feels different, when he gently nudges Louis’ entrance. After a long moment, Nick is all the way in. The pause grows awkward.  
“Erm, can I move?” Nick says.   
“Yeah, yep,” Louis stutters, unaware Nick was waiting for him. But once he does move, it’s like nothing Louis has ever felt before.  
“Fuck, Nick!” the moan is ripped from his throat. “Please, Nick, oh fuck, oh God-” he babbles on as Nick snaps his hips harder and harder into Louis. The pleasure grows and grows, building in his stomach, white hot. It’s Nick grabbing him by the hair that sends him over the edge. His come spills onto the duvet as he buries his face in the pillow. Above him, vaguely, he hears the sound of Nick groaning as he comes. He feels Nick pull out and the shift of weight on the bed before Nick collapses next to him, pulling him close. They say nothing. There is nothing to be said.

“Hey,” Nick whispers, after what feels like hours and no time at all.  
“Hey,” Louis says, and all of a sudden, it doesn’t feel like such a monumental thing. The strong smell of aftershave, the feeling of stubble, the long, rough fingers on his body- none of it scares him like he expected it to. He tries, in vain, to search for the words to tell Nick how he feels.  
“Thanks,” is what he settles for, though the Nick’s gentle touch on the small of his back tells him that words aren’t necessary. All they need, they have. The image of Nick on a Sunday morning comes to him again, and Louis realises that it becoming a reality is not without the realms of possibility. It still scares him, but he’s no longer alone. As he drifts off in Nick’s arms, the great something that had been hanging over his head all his life begins to lift, and he sleeps in peace.


End file.
